


The Renewing Fire (Consumes the Soul)

by DrbWrite



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Serial Killers, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9667727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrbWrite/pseuds/DrbWrite
Summary: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or was it stranger?Excerpt:“Calm down, Marcie,” he implored, “it’s a new experience, but we need new experiences to grow as individuals. I’m just a call away.”





	1. Chapter 1

Within the moments of the bell ringing, she found herself surrounded by the multitude of students who swarmed the halls, each with their own agenda, their own goals, and their own lives. Yet she felt all alone. No one would even come within 4 feet of her, seemingly kept away by an invisible force field that enveloped only her. It was better than the treatment she had been receiving from the other students in the past few weeks however. Since she came out. The girls behaved like she was a dangerous pervert, a predator. Her best friends were all guys, but they viewed her coming out as a sort of betrayal, as though she could control who she was and that somehow by speaking up, she had turned her back on them. It was they who had turned their backs on her though. No longer did she have someone to share even a short conversation with. The lean teen made her way through the throng, paying no heed to the fact that the students parted like the red sea before her. It wasn’t enough that they couldn’t bear to talk to her. No one could bring themselves to touch her, or even look at her. And it hurt. Being treated like a pariah. The whispers that she could hear coming from all directions were no consolation. She never asked to be the source of gossip, of disdain, the person parents warned their children away from. But here she was.

With a soft sigh, Marzcia opened the double doors that stood between her and the world at large. Sunlight assaulted her eyes immediately, and with a mumbled curse, she brought a hand up as a visor, her backpack strap clutched in her other hand. Across from where she stood was her father’s old pickup. It was safe to say that she was relieved at the sight. Unlike the other teens streaming out the doors, she had no afternoon plans, no afterschool activities. Football used to be something she could immerse herself in, but she had found herself being strongly persuaded to quit before she found her health at stake. It wasn’t even like they didn’t have girls on the team, they just couldn’t cope with the fact _she_ had known her whole life.

The older gentleman with grey streaked hair emerged from the car, a small smile on his face. “Marzcia!” He greeted, brown eyes sparkling. It was good to know that even one person was happy to see her, and interested in her overall well-being.

“Hey, Dad.” As always, she was a girl of few words, though she couldn’t stop herself from walking into her father’s outstretched arms. “Let’s just go home,” she offered from where her cheek rested against the top of her Dad’s head. With a slight strain to his face, her father nodded and disentangled himself from her embrace, making his way to the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Marcie considered her little brother where he sat at the kitchen counter, eating his lucky charms with much lackluster. He was a depressing sight. Her socked feet trotted across the carpeted floor with soft pats and soon she was sliding onto the stool beside her brother at the counter. “So what’s up?” she inquired.

The boy glared into his bowl, “Nothing,” he denied. Of course Marcie didn’t believe him. As emotional and moody as he had been for the last few months, this sullenness hadn’t featured at all.

Marcie considered his hunched shoulders with sad eyes, “Come on, Marco. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Her brother’s eyes flitted momentarily to her before returning to the depths of his cereal bowl. “Some of the guys at school were saying stuff,” he admitted with reluctance.

Her stomach felt like lead, but she didn’t know what she had honestly expected. The repercussions were bound to reach even to the middle school. The town wasn’t _that_ big after all. She didn’t know how she was going to explain this to Marco though. She didn’t want him to be worrying needlessly about the stuff that affected her. His next words surprised her.

Marco gave a half-hearted smile, “It’s alright. I get it. They’re a-holes. Still doesn’t make me happy, y’know?” He shrugged.

Marcie conceded his point with a sad smile, “I don’t like it either, yeah,” her smile became chiding, “but still no swearing, kid.”

The boy rolled his eyes and abandoned his bowl where it was, stumbling slightly as he stood.

* * *

 

When she had first heard her classmates’ whispers of a new club she had been apprehensive to even consider going. No one would be happy to see her. More than likely, they would take advantage of the absence of an adult’s supervision and express their disdain for her in more than just words. It wouldn’t make sense to go. But the hype surrounding the new spot had gotten the best of her, and she couldn’t find it within herself to deny herself this simple pleasure. Of all the great injustices she had endured, the greatest would be to waste her new freedom hiding away in a gilded cage of her own design.

But as her dad’s pickup approached the exterior of the hotspot, she felt only trepidation. _What if the bouncer wouldn’t let her in? What if the bartender refused to serve her? What if she came upon her classmates?_

“Calm down, Marcie,” he implored, “it’s a new experience, but we need new experiences to grow as individuals. I’m just a call away.” He reached out a hand to rest reassuringly on her shoulder. He added a slight pressure before retreating to his seat, a smile on his face as always.

Marcie nodded her agreement and absentmindedly reached up to fix her hair in place, primping it until she was satisfied. With one final glance at her father, she made her way out of the car.

* * *

 

She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. It was unbelievable, most unexpected. The room in which she stood was a startling array of clashing colours of different shades, all vying for her attention. The point of focus was situated in the centre of the room, a figure bathed in white, skin as smooth and pure as porcelain, and hair a striking, metallic silver. For a moment she thought she had caught a glimpse of heaven, an angel come to deliver their divine retribution, or perhaps a holy rescue. She wondered if her prayers had been answered, if someone up high had truly looked down upon her, seen her plight and decided that she deserved a reprieve. As these thoughts raced across her mind, the figure moved with clean precise movements unique to well-oiled machines. A grinding filled the silent room, as powerful limbs moved as though made of stone. Thud. Thud. Thud. Her savior approached. Awareness returned all at once to the various occupants of the room. The shadowed figures that had surrounded her gained courage in that moment. The mal-intentioned men grabbed at their weapons where they had been hidden and holstered, their faces morphed with rage. The guns each went off, but the figure that could be called a statue suddenly became a rushing wind, sprinting from where he had stood within seconds. The severe line that was their mouth slowly curled upward at the corners.

Her salvation had arrived.

* * *

 

Mark stared at the bed where his daughter lay as he listened to the doctor give his prognosis. That was an overestimation of the father’s attention at that moment. It was through a fog that he heard the doctor explain that Marcie had been drugged with a hallucinogenic drug that had caused her great disorientation and distress. “She’s to make a full recovery.”

He just wasn’t sure how he was to cope. How _Marcie_ was to cope. He’d dealt with teens being cruel and ignorant, but to see the evidence of bigoted adults was horrifying. His daughter was a target because of the circumstances in which she was born. That was all that fueled their hate.

What were they supposed to do? Their family couldn’t keep running, but they couldn’t stay where they were and live peacefully.

* * *

 

“Are you okay, Marcie?”

“Yeah, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time is relative. What is time? A relative? No. Who is this Time you speak of?


	3. Chapter 3

Broad hands settled at her narrow waist. The fingers that dug into the silhouette of her dress were thick, long, and blunt. The arms were thick, almost bulging with muscle. When she looked up she saw a broad chest and wide shoulders, gifts from her father. Her Adam’s apple was prominent, her jawline strong, the angles of her face sharp and well-defined. Looking down didn’t provide a better sight. She had almost no hips, they were so narrow. Her thighs were thick with corded muscle. Between her legs hung a male’s genitalia. She was an attractive man.

She prodded at the flesh of her hips that was softer and plumper. She ran her fingers over her hairless jaw. Her questing fingers found the softness that developed on her face. Her face was subtly rounder. Soft, but sharp. Like a steel knife hidden within velvet cloth. She reached down to caress the budding breasts that had grown. They were sizeable enough to require a bra when she went out. She reached behind herself and groped at her ass. It was… _fatter_. She was “Beautiful.” Her voice was low and sultry, soft and soothing.

With fireworks going off in her veins, she continued her preparations. She reached for her brush where it sat on her bed and went on to style her hair. She found that she preferred side parts, they just worked for her, _and_ she’d seen _Carmen_ _Carrera_ with them. Marcie had always had long hair, but it felt different. Softer, somehow. Everything was softer. Even the hairs on her arms and legs were softer. They were finer. She wasn’t even going to shave her legs. She liked the way the hairs caressed her when she ran her hands over her legs.

With a regretful sigh, Marzcia unzipped her dress and allowed it to pool at her feet. Ignoring the dress where it lay on the ground for a moment, she made her way to her vanity where she found a hair band. Quick movements had her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed a bra from her dresser and pulled it on, before she turned her attention to her panties. It was simple thing to tuck and pull them all the way up. She paused a moment to admire the effect it had on her legs, and how there was no bulge to be seen. Her cream blouse and jeans soon covered her figure.

The mirror showed her a pretty picture. She was an attractive girl. Marcie knew that for her there was more to be done before she would call herself a _woman_. She was easily a B-cup when one considered the silicone inserts, and she liked that she could experiment a bit with her bra size before she chose what size breasts she would want if she even wanted implants. She wanted to grow into her femininity for a bit.

With a final glance in the mirror, she grabbed her bag up from where it had rested across the room and left the room.

* * *

 

He was following her. _Taunting_ her. Calling her names. Misgendering her. It was worse because he just would not _quit_! He was going to regret crawling out from his mother’s birth canal. With a few long strides he was beside her, running at her pace. He looked up at her, a sneer on his face. She couldn’t even hear his words anymore. They just washed over her. Her mind had disengaged and only rage remained. He reached across and slapped her butt and _that was the last straw!_

Stopping, she planted her feet firmly and swung her backpack around, clobbering him in the face. With a mighty thud, the goliath fell. She was suddenly overcome with regret as clarity returned. She shouldn’t have done that. The path she had chosen to run along was pretty secluded, so no one had seen her attack on the older male. She gazed down at his bloodied face and her rage was once more boiling in her veins, begging for sweet release. Her knees gave out beneath her as they turned to jelly, and she crawled on her hands and knees to where he lay. The knife that was in his jacket surprised her. But maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised.

Hands reached for the knife, flicking it open, and distantly she admired the make of it. When tested against the skin of his face, it drew blood immediately. That first slice looked so good on him. Vaguely she could recall where she had seen him before. He had been there that night. He had been among those that had conspired to kill her.

The knife pierced his flesh like butter. His eyelids fluttered as the pain drew him from unconsciousness. The knife was easy to enter once more. It just…sank into him, like it belonged. The handle of the knife was slippery with blood, but with a readjusted grip it was an extension of the hand. The flesh was becoming shredded, and the smell of offal permeated the air as a horizontal slash was made across his unprotected abdomen. Tracks were made as tears flowed through the accumulated muck on his face. There were pleas being made, but she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear him like he couldn’t her that night. Blood flowed just as surely as his words did. His teeth were stained crimson, like something out of a nightmare, but they were a dream come true. Long had she wanted to do this. The body had finally stopped moving. His eyes were wide with fear, his lips forever gaping around an unheard plea. This feeling…it was _powerful._

For a moment she sat back on her haunches and inspected her handiwork. He was _nothing._ Just a sack of _meat_. It was surreal. She felt liquid dripping into her eye as she stared. It tinted her sight. Faintly she realized that blood had splattered onto her face. A crack went through her. With sudden fervor she scrubbed at her face, only to smear herself with a mask of blood. A keen escaped her, high and terrified. She shouldn’t have done this. He was _dead._ She had killed someone. Frantic hands stuffed the knife into her back pack. _Can police even get prints off a knife this bloody?_ She scanned the area, and with a satisfied nod, she was off running, leaving the unidentified male- she paused. The grass crunched underfoot as she returned. Knelt at his side, she found herself pitying the man. _What a piece of shit. He would’ve been alive if he were a decent human being._ An unnatural calm overtook her. Her hands searched his clothing robotically, until she found her prize: his wallet. Flipping it open, she stared at the average face that looked up at her from the driver’s license. _John Smith, 25._ A huff of amusement escaped her. _No wonder he feels he has to bully 17 year olds. He’s as special as a generic cracker._ Nevertheless, this too found its way into her backpack.

Finally she had what she needed. She turned tail and walked quickly from the scene, inspecting the areas she passed. About a mile out she found a stream. It was there that she stopped, washing her hands and face followed by the knife and her clothes. She wrung them out to the best of her ability, then redressed. Luckily the blood hadn’t even started to dry, so her clothes were clear of any hint of red.

* * *

 

Marco glanced up from where he had been perusing his comic book to gaze with wide eyes at where his sister had come banging into the house like an avenging amazon. Her eyes were wild, even as her face was scarily blank, her hands like vices on the straps of her bag. The pages of his comic book rustled, and he was startled to see that his hands were shaking. Tucking them out of sight, he sat up in question. Marzcia eyed him with- _fear?- anger?_ He didn’t know what it was, but it unsettled him. “Marcie?”

“Afteroon,” she muttered, “I’m going to,” she pointed in the direction of her room and started to turn away from him. Something was wrong. He made to stand, but Marcie was suddenly in his face, “ _Sit down!_ ” She snapped.

Marco flinched away, and shook himself for his actions immediately after. This was his big sister. She never snapped at him. She was _probably_ just upset at something someone else did, he assumed hopefully. Nevertheless, he remained where he sat, dark eyes following her as she escaped into her room. The clunk of the lock echoed softly. Still, he didn’t move. Rather, he focused on Marcie’s unusually heavy steps as she thundered around in her room, doing _what,_ he didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? What?! Never speak to my poor boy again.
> 
> W-wait! You can still speak to me, though! Actually, I encourage it!


	4. Chapter 4

The same thoughts she had entertained in the late hours of the night she had spent in her bed staring at the ceiling were like a scratched record in her mind. She just kept coming back to them. Even as she sat in her classes, she wondered what it would be like to find the others who had hurt her. It surprised her how easily she dismissed her guilt over the murder. And here she was, plotting to commit more.

She had forgotten where she was, but the noise of the crowd grounded her.

“Hey, Marcel!”

 _How could she have forgotten where she was?_ The brunette ignored the call. No one had that name anymore. Why should she respond to a dead person’s name? What she couldn’t ignore was the hand that grabbed her arm in an effort to stop her. She turned to face her attacker. Except…he wasn’t an attacker. It was her best friend. _Justin_.

He smiled at her nervously. “I don’t know your new name,” he removed his hand from her person sheepishly, “I’m sorry I’ve been a dick.” He sounded sincere.

A glance around the hallway showed that this was as unexpected for everyone else as it was for her. A number of persons were looking at Justin as though he were mad. “It’s Marzcia now,” she disclosed quietly. Justin looked validated where he stood. “What?”

“I’ve been telling the guys you were the same person!” Justin gushed. The blond bounced on his heels, strangely happy to be confirmed in this. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, the other guys want to talk to you, but they’re scared to talk to you as a girl. I told them that _obviously_ if you were a girl all along you wouldn’t suddenly change personality wise. Your history wouldn’t have changed.”

Marzcia could have kissed his pasty ass. “I could kiss your pasty ass,” she joked. A flush spread across Justin’s face as he led her to the locker rooms. It was _cute._

“Okay, Marzcia.” Within three minutes they had arrived at the doors that led to the male locker room. Justin turned to her, a flush still on his face as he explained that he had to let the guys know a girl was coming in. With a bang he flung open the doors, screaming, “Ladies! A lady is coming in; she doesn’t need to see so much dick.” A chorus of shouts and shrieks escaped the room. Justin turned to her, smiling as he gestured for her to enter.

Marzcia could admit that she was hesitant to enter a room so filled of testosterone after coming out. But she held her head high and raised her shoulders, back straight, posture perfect. Justin gazed at her with no little pride in his eyes. As she stepped into the room she was assaulted with nostalgia. _Ahhh…the smell of sweaty balls and feet, how could she have forgotten?_

Teeki yelped with outrage, “ _What?! No we don’t! What the fuck, man?!_ ”

“I did _not_ mean to say that out loud,” she laughed, “but I’m happy to see you’re as sharp as always, Terrance.”

Laughter erupted throughout the room, and Marzcia found herself truly happy for the first time in months.

* * *

 

“Dad?”

Mark turned in his chair to glance at his son. “Everything alright?”

The boy fiddled with the papers in his hands. “I think people are still giving Marcie trouble,” he blurted. His eyes widened belatedly and a quick glance to his father showed that he had heard loud and clear. “Well, Marcie didn’t say anything, but she was upset when she came home yesterday. And she hardly said anything at dinner,” he fretted.

The concern on his father’s face slipped away, and he was smiling with amusement at his son. “She’s just going through a tough time, Marco. You have to just see with her that she means no offense,” he told his son. “Now shouldn’t you be working on your homework? Run along now.”

Marco remained unconvinced. “But, Dad-” he complained. Their father hadn’t _seen_ her when she had arrived at home. But then again, he shouldn’t have said anything. His father never really saw anything wrong with letting Marzcia do whatever she wanted. Even if the consequences weren’t the best. He turned his face away, unable to look at his father.

The older man waved his hand dismissively. “Just go, Marco.” With that statement, he returned to his work, pen moving constantly across the many forms and sheets he had to sign off on.

A frown on his face, Marco left his father’s study. The papers he held in his hand crumpled in his tight grip, but he paid it no heed. He had to find out what was up with Marcie. She wouldn’t let him stew in his own angst, so he wouldn’t let his sister do it, either. As he walked down the hall he considered all he knew of the situation. It was merely a week since the bashing and near murder that his sister had experienced, and his father remained foolishly optimistic. Marcie herself seemed to have moved on from the event, even if she flinched away from others and tended to follow everyone with her eyes. Yesterday, he wouldn’t call her behaviour normal.

His knuckles rapped faintly on the door of Marcie’s room. The voices within the room quieted, and within a moment the door was opened. Marcie stared curiously at her little brother. “What’s up?”

Marco offered no answer, and instead tilted his head to peek within the depths of the dreaded teenage girl bedroom. Inside he saw a blond guy sitting on her bed. “Marcie, what’s he doing here? Does Dad know he’s here?” His voice faltered, “Wasn’t he one of the guys who were treating you like sh- crap?”

The girl merely smiled in response and opened the door wider, allowing her brother entrance into the room. The blond guy waved from where he was settled with a notebook in his lap, “Hey.” Marco gave him a nod of acknowledgement and turned to sister, arms crossed. _So?_ His posture hinted. Marcie was quick to reassure him, “Hey, no, he’s okay. The guys all apologized today, actually.”

A grin crossed Marco’s face, his arms falling to his sides, “Yeah? Cool.”

* * *

 

He never saw him coming. One moment he was walking up the path to his house, and in the next, he was flat on his back, a throbbing in his head. There he was, in all his girlish glory, glaring down at Jake. Jake honestly didn’t know what to think. He’d not expected to see the tall teen again.

“Hello, Jake. Did you miss me?” _Fuck no._ The ginger stared up at the teen with wide eyes, speechless.

His lack of response seemed to upset the boy. With jerking movements, he brought his weight down on Jake, straddling him. Instinctively Jake tried to buck to throw him off, but it was to no avail. The teen removed his back pack and cracked his knuckles, an eerie smile on his face. As the brunet’s hands reached towards his face, all he could focus on was the fact that the teen wore red nail polish. Cold hands enveloped his neck. Jake knew he was going to die in that moment.

“Calm down, dude,” he begged frantically, “look, we can talk about this, there’s no need for you to-” Jake’s voice cut off squeakily as pressure was applied to his throat. The fingers tightened, and the red head found himself struggling to breathe. Both his hands came up to pull at the hands on his neck, but the boy merely applied more crushing force. Tears escaped his eyes as he could feel his eyes bulging, his limbs weakening, and black spots entered his vision.

The teen moved his forearm across the older male’s throat and _pressed_. A crunch filled the air.

As the teen stood, watching, Jake scrabbled at his crushed throat, gasping desperately. His eyes ran rivers as he attempted to take even a breath of air in. _Nothing_. His arms moved sluggishly, and his sight was more dark than not, as he stared with tear filled eyes up at the boy who was his murderer.

In the fading light of the afternoon, the boy was an angel of death, his features fae-like; Jake's eyes fluttered closed for the last time to the despairing sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you happy for Marzcia?
> 
> Aren't you happy?
> 
> Aren't you?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy, can you tell?
> 
> Lalalalalalalalalalaalalala.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated. Come sigh forlornly with me on tumblr.


End file.
